


In the Middle of the Night

by ruralstar



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruralstar/pseuds/ruralstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ep tag for 8x20 "Alchemy" After talking to Rossi, Spencer finally allows himself to dream of Maeve.  It's not about forgetting, it's about moving forward in a world forever changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Middle of the Night

He woke with tears on his cheeks and just the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. In those first moments he lay perfectly still. Immersed in the familiar musty smell of old books and the tang of leather from the couch beneath him, he did not open his eyes. Only listened to the sound of his heartbeat and remembered.

It was not a true recollection. Her gentle embrace, the solid warmth of her body cradled close against his, the faint scent of vanilla on her skin and the silk of her hair beneath his cheek: were all a fabrication of two thousand, four hundred and twelve hours of communication. Every word she had ever written, every variance of tone in his ear, her laughter—even, her tears. All of the experiences before that horrible day were woven into a tapestry of memory soul deep and bittersweet. Their last painful moments together were intertwined with the sweet comfort of the dream. He felt pulled in a hundred directions even as he lay motionless on the couch. Afraid to breathe and let go of the mirage now beginning to fade. The music, the walls of books and the scattering of furniture all dissolved until there was only the two of them slowly swaying in a dark, silent void. Tears mingling on their cheeks, the taste of regret sharp on his tongue.

A jagged sigh escaped Spencer’s lips and he wiped the dampness from his checks with clumsy fingers. He sat up slowly and took several deep breaths before finally opening his eyes. Sometime after the jet touched down and before he left the office for the night, Spencer had decided to take Rossi’s advice. He picked up Thai food on the way home and took a treasured book of poetry off the shelf and put it on the coffee table. The bedroom just did not feel right so he opted to hang blankets over the living room windows to block all light pollution from seeping through the blinds. He put a CD of instrumental classics into the stereo and set it to continuous play to override the sounds from the street below and made the couch as comfortable as possible. A warm dinner followed by a reread of several poems about nature and philosophy allowed exhaustion to take hold. Sleep followed naturally.

Spencer sat back against the couch and rested his hands on his knees. He was rarely still even in sleep. Now was unaccountably different. He could hear Maeve’s voice saying the words his subconscious had composed.

_“I want to hold you once before I’m a ghost of a memory.”_

Those words of finality provided unexpected comfort. The first real chance to let Maeve rest and thereby allow himself to take a tentative step forward. Grief needed space. It could not be contained or quantified. Spencer did not know why he had tried so hard to conform to a societal expectation he had never understood. Why it had taken him three months and now sixteen days to accept the support which Rossi and the others had so freely offered from the moment of Maeve’s death. Nor could he be sure if healing once initiated would occur in a straight or ultimately crooked line as he moved forward. In this moment however he could feel Maeve’s presence. Hear her soft voice giving him permission to truly grieve and not hide behind work or the false front of stability he had been projecting since returning to work three months ago. In the dream they had danced and it was sweet and sensual and the greatest joy he had ever known. A manufactured memory he could treasure, not fear or dismiss for the sake of logic. Their relationship had taken its last deep breaths. Not to be forgotten but to be embraced as a painful but ultimately precious part of his past.

“I love you, Maeve,” Spencer whispered and deep within he felt her smile.

~END~


End file.
